


Costume Party

by bombshells



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crime, Descriptions of Injury, Everyone's a Smartass, Existential Crises, F/F, F/M, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Occasional Body Horror, Slow Burn, The power of friendship, Vigilantism, Violence, Weapons, casual weapons trafficking (and theft), dayak was in the fucking mi6 but that's irrelevant, fluff angst pining, fuck zarkon lives, lotor's a dumb bitch but he's alright he's good, lots of fun technology that doesn't really make much sense, lotura centric, nerds bein nerds, police? i don't know her, sort of coffeeshop au, superhero au, the only real asshole in this fic is the cat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-07-14 22:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16049960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bombshells/pseuds/bombshells
Summary: The city of Galaxia: known for its beautiful harbors, lovely views –and rampant crime. Of late there have been worrying occurences taking place- strange, almost impossible criminal heists by people with supernatural powers, and rumors of illegal experimentation by the city’s powerful medical equipment corporation, Daibaz Corp. However, the city also has its guardians- righteous individuals nicknamed the Paladins. Yet something sinister is brewing in the secret labs of Daibaz Corp. It’s up to Allura Leone, young heiress and Paladin, to uncover Daibaz’s true corruption, while playing a game of cat and mouse with her mysterious adversary, the criminal mastermind known to the public only as the Prince.





	1. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or: Allura thinks about life, and then has a very special cup of coffee.

Allura thought time was supposed to go _faster_ the older you got, not the other way around.

She heaved a sigh. She used to _like_ English Lit. In fact, at one point in her life, it had been her favorite class. Now she couldn’t wait for it to be over.

Her foot tapped against the ground. The professor droned on about Beowulf. The clock, in need of batteries, refused to change. She felt a slight _whoosh_ and heard a flutter of paper, and saw that a note had been flung onto her desk. Discreetly, she unfolded it, recognizing Lance’s familiar handwriting.

 _Will you cut out the foot-tapping?_ It read. _Some of us NEED to pass this course, you know._

She cast her eyes to the desk next to hers, where Lance was watching expectantly. She gave him an apologetic shrug. He responded by sticking his tongue out at her. They continued discreetly making faces at each other until class was finally over.

“So much for concentrating,” she said drily as they gathered their things.

“I was totally listening,” he scoffed. “Unlike _you._ You’ve been, like, totally restless lately. I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”

She smoothed her skirt. “I suppose,” she sighed. “I guess I’ve been distracted by our… _extracurricular._ ”

Lance’s face broke into a clandestine smile. “Riiiiight. Our… _extracurricular._ Yeah. I like that. Makes me sound like Spideman or something.”

“You’re cooler than Spiderman. Not as funny, though.”

“Pshhh,” Lance said dismissively. “I could wipe the floor with him. My costume’s cooler. I win in the Superhero Olympics.”

“Get your voice down,” Allura hissed. She wrestled with her literature notebook, trying to make it fit in her bag. She really needed to get a bigger one. “And we’re not _superheroes._ We’re….”

“People who run around town with superpowers and fight crime.”

She gave him an annoyed look. “Do you _want_ to be arrested, Lance? Like the color orange? How’s that for a costume?”

“Alright, alright, ­ix-nay on the powers-supernay,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Thank you,” she said graciously.

She had varsity cheer practice, and Lance had to go and pick up his niblings from school, so they parted. At least she liked practice. In truth, she had never quite imagined herself as a cheerleader when she was in high school, but it was good exercise and extremely fun, and she rather liked the varsity cheerleader look.

The captain, Romelle, was as sweet as they came. She bouncily directed them through warmups, chattering to Allura about her dog and her brother and her favorite musical and whether or not ketchup was a smoothie. Allura half-listened, nodding vacantly. She wished she could see the world through the colorful, simple lens Romelle did, where her most dire concern was the upcoming home game and whether they would perfect their routine on time.

Last night Allura had nearly been shot. They’d been stopping a burglary downtown, and if Hunk had not jumped in front of her just in time, she would’ve had a bullet hole in her ribs –or she would’ve been dead, more likely.

Hunk was fine. He had the ability to toughen his skin to the hardness of diamond at will, so he wasn’t even bruised.

 _But if he was hurt…_ Allura never would have forgiven herself.

She was eighteen now. Technically an adult, even if she had only turned eighteen last week, and even if she didn’t feel like one at all. She should’ve been able to balance her school life and her own work. She’d been doing it for years now. So why was it all catching up to her all of a sudden?

A bouncy pop beat played on the speakers. The sound of rustling plastic and feet drumming against the floor filled the gymnasium.

“Left, right, left, right, don’t forget to smile!” Romelle’s voice rang above the music.

Allura forced herself to focus on the routine. She owed that much to her friend, at least, who gave her heart and soul to practice. She was one of the only friends Allura had whose relationship did not involve guns, hand-to-hand combat, and vigilantism.

“Go lions!” the team chorused. _Go lions indeed,_ she thought. For some reason, the public had nicknamed her the Lioness –“queen of Galaxia”, the news anchors quipped.

She didn’t mind the nickname. But she didn’t like the “queen of Galaxia” part one bit. For one thing, that wasn’t who she wanted to be. Her fame had been completely unintended. For another, it reminded her of another member of Galaxia’s royal family –the Prince.

At first, she’d thought he and his band of criminals had just been petty thieves, or perhaps gang members, just like everyone else she’d dealt with. She’d expected to catch and unmask them within a week of learning of their existence. But soon they proved to be more than just a periodical annoyance. Bank heists. Weapon theft. Even a hostage situation at some point, although, in the end, nobody had been hurt. They had somehow never been caught, despite the combined efforts of both Allura and the police force.

For one thing, they had managed to outsmart them at every turn. For another, the Prince himself was wickedly fast- almost impossibly so. Allura could’ve _sworn_ that during their last encounter, he’d _teleported_ across the room, although maybe her eyes had been deceiving her.

It had _Daibaz Corp_ written all over it.

“ _Smile,_ Allura!” Romelle’s voice cut through her thoughts.

 _Right, right._ She resolved not to think about burglars or Daibaz Corp or the Prince until practice was over. An hour later, they wrapped up and changed out of their uniforms, and Allura began her solitary journey home.

She was feeling restless. She needed to get her homework done, and then maybe she would make her rounds. Perhaps she would even dig something incriminating up on Daibaz, although the more time passed, the more she felt that goal was getting further and further away. _I’m being distracted,_ she thought, then felt ashamed for thinking it.

In truth, she had not intended to become a vigilante. When she’d built her suit- the first Paladin uniform, and the most sophisticated of them all- she had intended to use it purely for espionage. But slowly, she found herself...deviating.

She was not arrogant to call herself or her friends a force of justice or order. But she could not watch something happen and sit around while she had the means to make it stop. The people needed them. Especially with dirtbags like the Prince on the loose.

Besides. Her involvement had been a choice. Her friends, on the other hand…

When her conscience kept her up at night, she used the spare time to study- she was neglecting college, after all. She was playing a constant game of hide-and-seek with her thoughts, and she was losing, though she kept insisting on a rematch.

Her eyes felt heavy, and practice had worn her out. Right now, as she walked the steady way to the subway station from the campus of her university, the prestigious Coalition U, all she could think about was how soft and comfortable her bed was, and how soothing it would be to her familiarly aching muscles.

 _Absolutely not,_ she admonished herself. _No naps. Your sleep schedule is already messed up as it is._

That was besides the fact that she absolutely _needed_ to finish the monstrous paper she’d been putting off for weeks. And she needed to repair the damage last night had done to her suit. And she needed to fit in a few hours of rounds as well. She made a mental checklist of who could accompany her tonight.

 _Lance?_ No, he was meeting Ryan Kinkade for his film project. And possibly to slide in a few pick-up lines. You never knew with Lance.

 _Hunk?_ No, no –he was fixing up that old truck and was in hyper-focus mode. He probably wouldn’t emerge from his family’s auto-shop for a good while.

 _Pidge?_ Negative- she was attending that astrophysics course at the university and wouldn’t be back till late.

 _Keith?_ Perhaps. He could be helping out at the dojo, though. She made a mental note to text him.

 _Shiro?_ Probably. She could always count on him. But if Keith came along, Allura would be third-wheeling whatever was going on between them again, and there were only so much pining stares and soulful sighs she could take.

But she was going to be absolutely useless if she didn’t find _some_ sort of pick-me-up.

 _You need coffee,_ a taunting voice went off in her head, which she scoffed at. She scorned coffee, ever since witnessing the effects of withdrawal on a very cranky, very lazy Pidge. Still…

_Just once._

She could see a coffeeshop nearby. _Kythra Coffee._ It looked simple enough. She’d pop in for a quick charge and go.

She pushed the glass doors open to the sound of wind chimes and George Michael’s voice playing softly from hidden speakers. She was hit by an admittedly pleasant waft of vanilla and ground coffee beans. The air was cool and relaxed, and the sun’s dying light filtered in from half-closed blinds, illuminated worn but comfortable arm-chairs and rather comforting vintage décor. It was an _extremely_ typical coffee-shop, and yet somehow Allura felt calmer here than she’d felt anywhere in a while.

Maybe it was the utter normalcy, a place she did not associate in any way with her nighttime activities. Maybe it was because she was alone for once.

Either way, she liked it here. She’d planned on taking her drink and going, but now she wanted to stay until she finished it.

She stood in the short line to the barista’s counter, eyes roving over the menu, deciding on a lightly caffeinated but extremely sugary monstrosity Lance would’ve approved of and Pidge would have despised. As she made her choice she could hear the barista’s voice as he dealt with customers. It was deep and soft and intensely likeable, and for some reason Allura found herself craning her neck to catch a look of him.

She needn’t have bothered. Her turn came soon enough. She stepped forward, opened her mouth, and froze.

“Er- good afternoon, may I take your order?” said the barista, after a brief moment of silence.

His face was almost unbearably elegant. High cheekbones, intelligent eyes, narrow, pointed jaw. His skin was a shade of brown a bit lighter than hers, eyes a luminous blue, long white hair pulled in a ponytail. He made his barista’s apron and cap look like a military uniform.

Allura’s tongue suddenly became lead, and she was very aware of how frizzy and gross her hair was.

“Er- the, um, the uh, the Triple Chocolate Dream, please,” she said idiotically. “And a water.”

His eyes lingered on her for a second more than necessary before turning to the register as he punched in her order. He murmured her price and she clumsily fished out the money –she must’ve been more tired than she’d thought.

“Can I have your name?” his annoyingly pleasant voice broke her reverie.

“I- excuse me?” she spluttered. What business did he have asking for her name? Was she that obvious?

But then she noticed the cup and Sharpie pen in his hands and wondered if the miracle of her designing herself a supersuit had been some kind of cosmic fluke.

His cheeks had gone a bit red; perhaps it was the lighting. “For your order.”

“Allura,” she said, the syllables choppy.

“Allura,” he said, sounding the name out as he wrote it on the cup. He smiled at her. “That’s not a name you hear every day.”

His smile was like a politician’s. Almost suspiciously brilliant. But she wasn’t complaining. Her eyes caught on his nametag.

“I could say the same for you,” she said, grinning back. “Lotor.”

A short laugh. “Touché.”

She really, really liked the sound of his voice. And the color of his eyes. And the little strand of hair that fell out of his ponytail. Was it dyed? Hers wasn’t.

She moved out of the line so the people behind her could order, still a bit daft, and very embarrassed. What a fool she was. It was the eyes. She was always a sucker for blue eyes.

She sat in one corner of the shop as she waited for her order to be completed, scrolling on her phone. There was wifi, but her previous encounter was much too fresh for her to gather the courage to ask for the password. Eventually, she heard her name being called out at the counter and went to get her things.

“One Triple Chocolate Dream and one water for Allura,” Lotor said with a final clandestine smile.

She blamed the warming of her cheeks on the coffee. As she sat there, slowly sipping it by the window as the sun set. She found herself sneaking glances at the barista’s counter, watching as he politely dealt with customers, or, during lulls in activity, leaned on the counter and stared absently into space. Occasionally their eyes would meet, and one of them would smile, chagrined; more often, they would quickly look away, abashed.

It was almost funny. She felt strangely disappointed as she found that she had drained her coffee, and as she got up to leave, it dawned on her that during her brief sojourn in the little coffeeshop, she had not thought of Paladins or guns or criminals or that stupid Prince even once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my bitches the lothots! THIS IS FOR YOU!!!!!!!


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or: casual weapons trafficking, general tomfoolery, Dread, fun crime times, Kova the Asshole Cat, and the power of friendship

The wind whistled through the concrete trees. The city sang of new beginnings and quick ends, of triumph and despair, of desperation and dignity. The moon watched, aloof, from afar. The air was cool and crisp, heavy with the tense expectations of the night. The time was nigh for thievery, for greatness, for notoriety- for justice.

Lotor Sincline, prince of Galaxia, stood on the roof of the warehouse, breathing in the heavy sea mist brought in on the breeze. He was having a hard time doing so, considering the tight mask he wore that left no openings in his face save for his eyes. Still, he’d read somewhere that sea air cleaned the lungs, and he was in need of purification before he began his sacred mission.

There was a crackle of static in his ear, then a voice. It had the air of repressed eagerness, like they were children playing with store-bought walkie-talkies. “Bishop here. Location cleared. Over.”

He lightly tapped a finger to the side of his head, where, in his ear, was a small device similar in size and shape to a wireless earbud. “Prince here. Visuals affirmative. Target five minutes late according to plan. Knight, request to repeat intel. Over.”

Another tap to his ear. Then another crackle of static, and another voice, low and characteristically tense, chimed in. “Knight here. According to information gathered previously the target should have arrived five minutes ago. The Rook already has eyes on the target- it’s in the city. Causes of the hold-up could include traffic issues, false information, police or vigilante activity-”

“Zethrid could be compromised?” the Bishop’s voice broke in, high and worried. “We can’t let her get caught! What if-”

“Prince here,” Lotor interrupted her, the slightest bit annoyed, mostly at her breaking of protocol. He had no respect for rules except for his own. “And I remind you, _Bishop,_ to use our _aliases_ when referring to each other, as we previously discussed. Many times. Over.”

“But Zeth- the Rook-”

“ _Prince here,”_ Lotor said again, more forcefully. Sweat was beading beneath the rubber of his goggles, whose orange plastic bathed the world in an ugly yellowish hue. “Also _reminding_ the Bishop to follow protocol! The Rook is fine. This is not the first time we’ve done this. The Priestess is there for backup. Over.”

“Bishop here,” the Bishop said. “What if the Priestess is compromised too-”

“The Priestess doesn’t get compromised.”

“Knight here,” the Knight broke in. “Reminding the Prince to follow protocol. Over.”

Lotor narrowed his eyes as he heard the Bishop and the Knight snigger at him over the comm-devices. “Prince here. Very funny, Knight. It seems your being a smartass does not extend only to academia. Over.”

“Knight here. I’m not the one using words like ‘academia’ in casual conversation. Over.”

Ah, so Acxa was in one of her exceedingly rare playful moods. Very well. He just wished she wouldn’t get them while they were in the middle of an operation.

“Knight here. Visuals on target acquired. Moving at an estimated twenty miles per hour. Medium size pickup truck, canvas covered back, dimmed windows.” A pause. “Also have eyes on the Rook and the Priestess. Both uncompromised. Over.”

Ezor’s sigh of relief caused yet another crackling splash on the comm-devices.

Lotor waited a few minutes, then spoke. “Prince here. Rook? Rook? Do you copy?”

A low, husky voice spoke into the comms. “Rook here. Keeping close tabs on target. Quiet extraction recommended. Priestess senses high amounts of q-particles nearby. Over.”

 _Damn it,_ Lotor thought instinctively. Hopefully, Narti’s warnings would be unfounded, but he knew that she was almost always right about what she did or did not imply.

“Prince here. The q-particles she could be sensing _could_ just be the target, correct? Or perhaps me, now that she’s in the vicinity. Over.”

“Rook here. Priestess says she recognizes the signature. Our friends have decided to crash our party. Don’t think we’re gonna like the present. Over.”

 _Damn it._ Couldn’t that Lioness and her band of thugs leave him alone for once in his life?

“Prince here. Lay low and keep comms to minimum. They could be unaware we’re involved. Any intel on who our, ah, guests are? Over.”

“Rook here. We’re not sure if the Lioness is nearby- her signature or whatever is too close to the target’s. We do know that that pesky Ghost is here though. He could certainly be a pain in the ass tonight. It’s either him or that little pest Tesla. Over.”

“Prince here. Do not engage if unnecessary. Let’s wrap this up tonight, girls. Bishop, is the placebo ready? Over.”

Ezor’s voice was markedly more cheerful since Zethrid had weighed in on the comms, regardless of the gravity of the situation. “Bishop here. Placebo ready. Over.” Pause. “Bishop here. This protocol thing is stupid as shit. Over.”

Lotor rolled his eyes, then looked up. Far away, he could make out the gleam of the sea as it reflected the moonlight. Now, however, he was not sightseeing. He surveyed the rooftops around him, searching for a familiar suit of white and pink.

 _Come out, come out, wherever you are,,_ he thought. In all honesty, he did not want to hurt her. She annoyed him. She inconvenienced him. Her moral naivety irritated him. But he really didn’t have much against her. He’d rather take his shit and go tonight. He was in no mood for games.

A faint engine purr sounded and the pickup truck pulled into the empty lot, grimy lights illuminating the shithole they’d chosen for their meeting place. The truck idled, then came to a stop. The doors open, and out came three people. One scratched at his head as another took out a phone and dialed a fake number. Lotor knew it was a fake number because he was behind it.

Conning them into meeting them here had been almost comically easy. They were typical Saturday-morning-cartoon bad guys- people on the wrong side of town who thought they were going to mess with the weapons trafficking business and get away with it. Now they had millions of dollars’ worth of prime Daibaz Corp prototype and were anxious to get rid of it once they’d seen how popular it had made them.

 _Poor bastards._ Lotor felt almost sorry for them. Not only were they being conned out of around ten million dollars tonight, thus cementing their status as “goners” in whatever gang they belonged to; they were also probably going straight to the cops, what with the Lioness and her goons’ unexpected appearance tonight.

 _If it’s one thing I owe her, it’s that she always cleans up our messes,_ Lotor thought wryly.

Still, he found he did not sympathize much with his victims. He did not have any tolerance for stupidity. They were such dumbasses that all three of them had gotten out of the safety of the truck and _nobody_ was watching the cargo.

 _Newbies,_ he thought disdainfully. _This is practically a fucking GTA game._

“Prince here. Knight, stage one of the operation is a-go. Over.”

“Knight here. Affirmative. Over.” God bless silencers, and God bless Acxa’s eyes. The way they fell was almost _artistic,_ one falling over the other like a chain of dominoes _._

They weren’t dead. No way would Acxa have agreed to that. Just tranquilized. Long enough for Lotor to be long gone by the time they woke up.

  _Here goes._ He took a deep breath, looked to warehouse on his right, at the dimmed, grimy window, and focused on what lay behind it. Then he closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was in the warehouse. A heavily-breathing Ezor was watching him, hand over her heart. Even though they were supposed to be dressed for stealth, her leggings were leopard-printed in camouflage colors. Go figure.

“I can _never_ get used to that teleporting shit you do,” she said, shoving a large crate in his direction.

He hefted it over his shoulder and sped to the next window, where he had an easy view of the truck. “Good. That means it works.”

He blinked again, then felt the truck’s floor give a little beneath his sudden weight. The moonlight shone on him, and he felt extremely exposed. He quickly got to work, uncovering the tarp hiding the crate hidden on the truck and replacing it with the one Ezor had given him, before covering it quickly once more with the tarp.

Quickly, and as quietly as possible, he took out a hammer he’d had on his belt and got to work picking off  the nails holding the crate’s lid down. He resisted the urge to look up around him.

“Prince here,” he whispered. “Status on Paladins? Over.”

“Rook here. I’ve lost them. Priestess still senses pulses of q-particles, though. Heavy usage. They’re likely nearby. Over.”

“Knight here. Negative on visuals. Over.”

This was setting him on edge. Usually, at this point, the Paladins would intervene. Why was this getting easy if they were already here?

_Stop worrying. Acxa and Ezor have got you covered._

He worked faster, and finally pried off the lid, looking through the contents- making sure he hadn’t conned a con job. The load seemed to be exactly as they’d described- nine variously sized boxes, neatly labelled, and mostly unopened.

 _You should make absolutely sure,_ his brain nagged at him, but Lotor would rather be conned than caught. He slid the lid back on and got off the truck. “Prince here. Extraction completed. Phase two initiated. Confirmations requested. Over.”

“Knight here. Confirmed. Over.”

“Bishop here. Confirmed. Over.”

“Rook and Priestess here. Confirmed. Over.”

His heart sped up. Phase two meant no Acxa and no Ezor. He was on his own for these crucial ten minutes until they got to their getaway.

Crate under one arm, he ran lopsidedly across the clearing. Zethrid and Narti would be waiting just a couple of streets over. _Go, go, go-_

He reached the shadow of a building and paused to take his breath, leaning against the wall. Why was he so anxious? He’d done so many operations like this before and yet-

He felt a hand close over his wrist, as if it had grown right out of the wall. Alarms went off in Lotor’s head. _The Ghost!_

“Not another move,” murmured the low, slightly hoarse voice. Thoughts whirred in Lotor’s head. Could he blink away? He doubted it. The Ghost’s grip on him was too strong, and Lotor doubted he could carry someone as huge as him along with him.

Slowly, the rest of the Ghost’s body came out of the wall, forcing Lotor away. In one swift move, the Ghost twisted Lotor’s arm backwards and turned him to the wall, shoving him face-first into the bricks. It wasn’t difficult. Lotor wasn’t the biggest person around, and the Ghost, contrary to his name, was built like a tank.

He heard the whistle of a whip and saw, in the corner of his eye, a shining silver rope wrap itself around the crate he’d been forced to drop and pull it towards its owner. He craned his neck, struggling against the Ghost’s restraints, and saw a flash of pink and white.

“I’ll be taking that,” said a familiar voice, dignified and superior.

“You,” he growled.

“Show’s over, Prince,” the Lioness said loftily. “No more party tricks up your sleeve?”

Lotor grimaced. _Oh, I have party tricks, alright._

“Sorry, Lioness,” he said, gritting his teeth in preparation for what was to come. “I’m not quite done yet.”

 _Inhale._ He suddenly lashed out, ramming the back of his head into the Ghost’s face, and then, using his captor’s slackened grip, pushed off from the wall and popped his shoulder out of its socket, lifting it high above his head, and then using his other arm to grab the Ghost by the nape of his neck and use his own momentum to flip him straight into the wall.

“Shi- _Ghost!”_ yelled Lioness.

His arm fell limply at his side, and Lotor bit back a groan of pain. Of all of his “party tricks”, this was his least favorite. Ideally, he should’ve popped it back into place immediately, but right now he had more pressing concerns.

Spinning around, he faced the Lioness, sprinting towards her. She braced herself in a fighting stance, shoving the crate of Lotor’s rightful bounty behind her.

 _You are not going to humiliate me,_ he thought, scowling. _Not tonight._

He aimed a punch and she easily blocked, and they settled into a quick dance of fists and feet, street-fighting but more refined. One of her fists went straight for his neck and he had no choice but to block with his bad arm; he bit back a yell of pain.

 _I need to end this quickly,_ he thought.

“Rook here. Prince, where the fuck are you?” Zethrid’s voice said in his ear.

_Shit, shit, shit-_

“There’s a bit of a situation going on,” he said through gritted teeth. To hell with protocol.

“Then _deal with it_. The guys we left at the truck’ll come to any minute now!”

 _Damn it._ He had no choice now. He let the Lioness knock him to the ground with a vicious roundhouse kick, pinning him with one knee. Blinking spots away from his eyes, he scanned her helmet for a face grinning in satisfaction. Unfortunately, the glass did not show anything but a smooth surface and his own reflection.

Oh, well. He would’ve liked to see the victory fade from her eyes.

He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, he was standing behind her- he grabbed the crate, hefted it over his good shoulder, and booked it, blinking short distances to go faster. He hadn’t wanted to flat-out teleport in front of the Lioness –he’d prefer it if she _didn’t_ know of his powers- but she’d driven him to it.

“What the-” she whirled in place, looking for him. “ _I knew it!”_

Oh, well. So much for secrecy.

“Get back here, you piece of shit!” he heard her swear as he blinked his way away, across the lot, then into a building, then into the one opposite, so she had no idea of where he was. He heard a heavy _thump_ as she stamped her foot. “ _DAMN IT!”_

He couldn’t help but smile at her temper tantrum, despite the dread coiling in his insides. How nice it was to feel important. He rushed to a window, shoulder aching, and saw their getaway car waiting nearby. He could just make out Zethrid in the driver’s seat, tapping her hand on the steering wheel.

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he was splayed out over Narti and Acxa in the backseat, and Ezor was shrieking, “I _hate_ it when you do that, I _hate it-”_

“Oh, get a grip already, Ezor,” he groused, wincing as Narti grabbed his bad shoulder to help him right himself. Acxa was rubbing her chin; the crate had hit her square in the face when he’d teleported into the car. Zethrid drove away, the sound of the engine unnaturally low, a result of the silencing device they’d acquired over a month ago.

Soon he was sitting up; he bit the fabric of his mask between his teeth, and with a heavy pull, wrenched his shoulder back into place. Acxa, watching, cringed.

“You’re going to give yourself arthritis if you keep doing that,” she said.

Lotor doubted it. Now that he’d put his arm back, his accelerated healing would take care of the rest.

 

 Ezor squirmed in the passenger seat, connecting what looked like a car phone charger into the car’s port. The only difference was that another long tube extended from the device, terminating in a needle, which Ezor proceeded to put into her own bared arm. She took a deep breath, looking slightly queasy, and closed her eyes. A sort of wave passed over them; Lotor now knew that the car and everything in it was invisible to anyone outside of it. Acxa had a traffic app open on her phone, and began dictating to Zethrid the emptiest streets.

 “Got the haul?” Zethrid asked from the front seat. Lights made patterns on her shoulders as the car entered a tunnel.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s all here.”

“What happened?” Ezor said, eyes screwed shut in concentration. Usually, she only used what she called the chameleonator on herself- it took more of her energy and willpower to focus on something bigger.  

“The Lioness and the Ghost were there,” he said, suddenly feeling exhausted, as he always did after an operation. “They nearly had me trapped. Had to blink out to get away, so now they know about me.” He swallowed, trying to ignore the snake of fear in his gut. “It’s only a matter of time before they connect the dots. We need to work faster.”

There was a long silence in the car. Maybe it was the alternating lights as they drove through the tunnel, but Lotor knew he wasn’t imagining the terror on Narti’s face.

Finally, Acxa spoke up. “We don’t know that for sure. We’re only _theorizing_ that they might be working for Daibaz, Lotor.”

“Their powers are too convenient,” he said. “Their technology too advanced. Daibaz hired them to find Narti and I, and they’re almost there. The whole vigilante story is just a front.”

 _The Paladins don’t know about me yet,_ Narti signed. There was an almost childish hope in her statement.

“They have their suspicions. Everyone does.” He fought to keep his heart from racing. _I’m not going back, I’m not going back, I’m not going back, I’m not going back-_

“Maybe we should leave town for a while,” he said, after a long pause.

Narti’s shoulders slumped. She suddenly looked very tired.

 _I liked this city,_ she signed half-heartedly. _I know you all think it’s shitty, but I really liked it._

“Fuck that,” Zethrid said heatedly. “Fuck that idea, Lotor.”

Acxa looked to him unhappily. “You know leaving is not the answer to this. Zethrid can’t leave her brothers and sisters behind. I can’t do that to my uncle. Ezor’s mom needs her. And you and Narti can’t afford to leave your jobs and live somewhere else. We barely scrape by every month.”

“So I’m just going to wait here and let Daibaz get his hands on us?” Lotor said sharply, temper rising.

“He can get to you whether you leave or not!” Acxa said heatedly. “He’s one of the richest, most powerful people in the world! You think _running away_ is going to stop him?”

“I’m _not_ running away!”

“Then what _are_ you doing?”

Silence.

The helplessness of the situation left the car in a somber mood. Zethrid’s hands flexed on the steering wheel. They had emerged from the tunnel and now entered another; since it was empty, Ezor opened her eyes, looking pale, and removed the needle from her arm. The car became visible again.

“Look, guys,” Ezor said, falsely cheerful. “This whole Daibaz-Paladins team-up thing is just speculation. Lotor’s always paranoid and we all know that-”

Lotor opened his mouth to protest.

“-and we love you for it,” Ezor said, reaching an arm back to pat his knee. “But we don’t have any real proof. Let’s not get rash. We just pulled off an operation and got our hands on new tech. That’s cause for celebration, right? We’re gonna go home, we’re gonna watch one of Narti’s dumb soap operas, and we’re all going to be fine.”

Ezor spoke rationally. Lotor wanted to believe her. He didn’t point out that when he was suspicious about something, he was usually right.

 _We’re all going to be fine._ When was the last time he had genuinely believed that?

Ezor’s words only seemed to have much of an effect on Zethrid, who visibly relaxed. Lotor and Acxa sullenly looked in opposite directions. Narti crossed her arms with a miserable look on her face.

Zethrid stopped the car near a grocery store with bars on the windows and bullet holes in the wall. It was exactly two blocks away from home. They lived in one of the worst neighborhoods in the city, full of gang activity, drive-bys, and drug dealers. Still, the one upside was that rent here was cheap. Or as cheap as it got in Galaxia.

They took a minute to take their masks off; Lotor felt only marginally better at the freedom from stiflement as he shook his hair out of its haphazard knot at the base of his neck. They then got out of the car, took out their bags of equipment and the crate, and set off in silence in the direction of their apartment building.

The streets were quiet. It was late, after all. Still, there was a feeling of tension in the air. Lotor knew, that if he was walking here this late alone, he would’ve been jumped. It was only due to their numbers and the fact that Zethrid looked like she could crush a man’s head between her fists that they were left alone.

Eventually they reached their apartment building. Technically speaking, only Lotor and Narti lived there, but for all the time the others spent there, the might as well have lived there too. It was dark, grimy, had shitty pipes, smelled like old beer, and Lotor was quite sure it was permanently infested with roaches. But, well. Nobody looked at two teenagers living alone too hard, even with all the strange noises and little explosions that came out of their closet of an apartment sometimes, and rent was mostly manageable, and Narti’s cat took care of the bugs.

The same cat, a small, demonic creature by the name of Kova, jumped into her arms as soon as they opened the door, prompting his owner to rock him like a baby. Narti’s affection for that hellish beast was beyond Lotor; he was bony, rather ugly, and extremely mean-spirited. To this day Narti was the only person who had ever come in contact with him and not sustained some kind of injury.

“Hey there, bitchface,” Acxa muttered as she walked past him, depositing a bag on the floor. Narti stomped on her foot. “What was that for?” she said shrilly.

Kova had climbed to Narti’s shoulders, purring with glee at the discomfort of another living thing. _He’s sensitive,_ Narti signed.

Acxa silently gave Kova the finger; she was lucky Narti was blind.

Zethrid deposited her own load and went straight for the extremely small kitchen.

“I’m hungry,” she said, leaning at the cabinet and rummaging through its contents, before looking up. “Who wants ramen?”

“Is there any pizza in the fridge?” Ezor called.

“Yeah.”

“What kind?”

“Domino’s.”

“Fuck no. I only eat Daddy Johnathan’s.”

It was difficult to exasperate Zethrid, who dealt with six young, hyperactive brothers and sisters on a daily basis, but Ezor somehow accomplished it. “For fuck’s sake, Ezor, just say Papa John’s.”

“I’ll refer to Daddy Johnathan however I like.”

Lotor put the crate down on the coffee table; everyone aside from Zethrid sat around it and watched as he pried the lid off.

“Let’s see what we have here, hm?” he said, half to himself, as he reached in and scooped out the boxes of priceless q-particle tech.

Acxa took one of the boxes and extracted its contents, holding the pieces up to the light. “This is almost definitely some kind of weapon,” she said, eyes sharp and analytical. “It’s like Ezor’s, it needs a host user- and look, there’s the storage tubes for QPE. Hmm.”

“We need to assemble it, of course,” Lotor said. Against his will, he found himself fascinated. What _had_ Daibaz cooked up now? He noticed something, a wicked little receptacle hidden in one of the pieces. “Is that –that’s impact absorption tech!”

Acxa gave a low whistle. “The guys who took this sure went go big or go home.” She paused. “I’m staying over. I’m not gonna be able to sleep before I figure out what this does.”

“What about your uncle?” Ezor asked.

“He’s out of town,” Acxa said absently, turning the impact absorption receptacle over. “Work.”

Acxa’s uncle and legal guardian had a mysterious job none of them were able to pinpoint, including Acxa herself. Lotor was very convinced he was a hitman. His only doubt about the theory was that Acxa always insisted that if her uncle was going to kill, it wouldn’t be for money.

They continued examining their haul, well into the night, the five of them dining on instant ramen and old pizza. Eventually Ezor went, and then Zethrid; finally, it was just Lotor, Narti, and Acxa.

Narti, typical of her, curled up with Kova in her lap and fell asleep, exhausted after a night of running around the city. After that, Lotor and Acxa worked quietly. Neither of them spoke. This was not their usual comfortable silence, though; this one was heavy with tension. They had not forgotten their argument from earlier.

Acxa spoke up first. “How’s your shoulder?” A peace offer.

“Better.” Acceptance. “It’ll be fine by morning.” Not quite. There would be a nasty bruise that would linger for days, but it would be usable.

“You should get some sleep.”

“I’ll pass. I’m not very tired.” Not a complete lie. He truly didn’t feel like sleeping. But it was really because he had no hope of sleep with the whole Paladins dilemma on his mind.

“Pass me that thing in your hands; I think I know where it goes,” she said quietly. Lotor gave it to her. She was better than him with tech anyway. “I’m sorry I said you were running away. I didn’t mean it.”

Lotor played with the frayed sleeve of his hoodie. He needed a new one; this one was practically falling apart. “No, you were right. It would be running away.”

“It’s not running away if it’s your only option,” Acxa said, looking troubled. “If you really are in danger, you guys should do it. Leave the city.”

“I don’t understand,” he said, looking at her directly. “Do you want us to leave or not, Acxa?”

“I just-” she sighed. “You know how I am. Total control freak.”

Lotor cracked a half-hearted smile. “That’s why we’re friends.”

She smiled, too, and continued. “What I mean is when I’m worried about something, I like to keep it near me.” Her smile disappeared. “I’m afraid for you, and I’m afraid for Narti.”

He looked away.

“Listen, Lotor,” she said. “I won’t ever try to control you. But please, just promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaand that's chapter two!!!! sorry for no soft lotura but i mean....they are archenemies right now. also lotor's a bit of a jerk rn but we'll have to excuse him, he's stressed and we love him. 
> 
> author voice: I mean TECHNICALLY there's lotura in this chapter I mean they INTERACTED  
> also wow lowkey zethzor vibes anyone :D
> 
> Thanks to all the kudos and comments, they fuel me to write!!!!


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wildly different lotura meetings, some exposition, and the revelation that Allura is, essentially, Batman. Yes, the motorcycle was inspired by Incredibles 2.

Lotor didn’t really _hate_ his job. He would just really, really rather be doing something, _anything_ else.

He could barely manage to get from his shitty neighborhood to the shop in its cushy, rich district in time –he practically had to cross the whole city for it. It usually involved a lot of running, leaping, and jostling people on the sidewalk. When he’d get there the shop would already be full of teenagers eager for sugary monstrosities he’d fumble to remember how to make. After the initial rush, he’d clean up the carnage, and then wait out the last half hour or so of peace before his shift ended.

Today, however, somehow, his job felt different. Maybe it was his nervousness. He’d been jumpy all day, last night’s events weighing deep on his mind, jittery from lack of sleep. His mind kept leaping to conclusions and conjuring rather unwanted scenarios in his head, mostly involving large men in black suits and sunglasses pulling up next to him in the street and pressing chloroform to his face.

Still, his nervousness was not all to do with last night’s altercation with the Lioness and the Ghost. He knew himself well enough to deduce _that,_ at least. There was some kind of niggling sensation of anticipation, of waiting for something to happen, although Lotor had no idea what he was waiting for. Death? His parents? An arrest?

He cursed under his breath as he ruined a drink, adding chocolate sauce when it didn’t need it, and set it aside, beginning the drink anew with an apologetic glance at the buyer, who was waiting impatiently by the counter. _Focus._ He was getting away with his thoughts again. Dr. Dayak was always telling him about that.

 _Focus on the hour,_ he could hear her say, nails drumming against a tabletop. _He whose eyes are fixed on the horizon trips and falls on the stones beneath his feet._

He cleared his mind of his parents, his powers, his friends, and his fears, and concentrated on mixing the new drink. Once he got in the mood he fell into a kind of trance, and he let it substitute for sleep.

Not for the first time, he wished his life was simpler. He wished he was doing what he was _supposed_ to be doing- attending classes at university, continuing his abandoned education.

The people in the coffeeshop dwindled down until it was basically empty, so that the faint eighties music and the drone of the air conditioner were the only sounds he could hear, and he leaned onto the counter, rubbing the fatigue out of his eyes. He’d been up all night examining their latest haul, discussing with Acxa the ways in which they could use it.

They needed some kind of sound cancellation that would still allow them to use the comm-devices –the less they used their voices during operations, the better. And Zethrid needed some kind of weapon other than a gun; she had terrible aim, and besides-

The door chimed, and Lotor, involuntarily, looked up. When he saw who it was, his heart began to race, and he quickly busied himself wiping the countertop, for some reason both thrilled and terrified. It was _her._ The girl from yesterday. Allura.

He didn’t know what had happened. She was just an ordinary customer, a college girl from CU. She hadn’t even spared him any special attention; at least, he believed so. He was pretty sure he had imagined all those looks she’d given him. Still-

She walked up to the counter and he looked up, pretending to be surprised to see her. _Be cool, be cool, be cool._ He could do this. He did this with everyone. Why was he so jumpy? This must be the coffee. Second-hand inhalation or something.

“Er, hi,” she said, placing her hands on the counter. She was in a light pink dress and grey cardigan. Her hair, long and white and heavenly, was down.

“Welcome!” he said, a bit too brightly. “Same as yesterday? Allura, is it?”

She looked a bit surprised.

“Yes, please,” she said, smiling. “You remembered?”

 _Great, now she thinks you’re creepy!_ He heard Ezor’s voice in his head.

“Oh, of course!” he said, laughing nervously. “I have a very good, uh, a very good….” Memory? No, no, he’d look like he was bragging about himself. He had a very good…. “Cerebral cortex.”

Allura paused a little. Lotor wanted to slam his face into a wall.

 _Cerebral cortex?_ He could hear Imaginary Ezor repeat in incredulity. _Cerebral cortex, Lotor? Of everything, you chose to tell a girl that you have a good_ cerebral cortex?

Allura then laughed, which made it…bearable. “That’s…nice.”

“It’s the part of the brain that, uh, makes memories,” he found himself babbling.

“I think you mean the hippocampus,” she corrected, slanting the last part of her sentence up like a question. But she was smiling, in a pitying sort of way. Just his luck he goes all nerd on her and he doesn’t even nerd _right._

“Oh, you’re probably right, I don’t know, sometimes I just say these things without really thinking about it but I don’t know why it just occurred to me to say cerebral cortex I guess it just sounds cool-” he could hear Ezor booing. “Um, anyway, I’ll, er, get your order! Have a seat! Haha! Ha! Ha!”

He hadn’t babbled like this since he was ten. What had gotten into him?

Startled, Allura had taken herself and sat down, opening a laptop decorated with multiple stickers; one of a lion, one of a few flowers, one with the Gryffindor emblem. She sat like a princess, he noticed; ramrod posture, elegantly crossed legs. The light caught her bangs as they fell in a wave over her face while she bent over her computer, making it look like she was framed by a golden halo. There was a slight furrow to her brow as she concentrated on her work, her lips involuntarily pursed-

He was staring. _The insomnia’s getting to me,_ he thought, irritated at himself. _I don’t have time for this._

He took extra care in making the drink- it was bad enough that he’d wasted her time with that cerebral cortex nonsense- and brought it over to her table. For a moment there after he’d set it down she’d narrowed her eyes at her laptop screen, looking almost _angry,_ before her face suddenly relaxed and she looked back to him with a brilliant smile.

“Oh, thank you.”

He nodded jerkily and robotically made to leave, before he heard her voice again. “It’s a very nice drink, by the way. I don’t think I’ve had anything quite the same.”

He looked back, feeling very warm in the cheeks. “I’m glad you like it,” he said, as warmly as he dared. They paused there for a few seconds, just awkwardly looking at each other, before Lotor made a vague gesture towards the counter. “I’ll just be back there.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

 _She likes it! She likes it! She likes it!_ That exuberant thought ran around in his head as he marched back to the register and began systematically wiping the countertops. He made a resolution in his head to never, ever let Ezor know about this. Or any of the girls, for that matter. They’d never let him hear the end of it.

__

The night was clear. Conveniently so. Allura revved her engine and sighed as the cool air whipped past her.

Almost soundlessly, her motorcycle slipped down the calm streets of Atlas Heights, Galaxia’s most affluent suburb. The streets were almost empty, few cars appearing this late at night.

“Alfor, conduct area scan,” she said. Her helmet’s interface turned green to affirm it had received the command, and after a minute, the screen of her helmet showed her a semi-transparent map of Atlas Heights, showing her exactly how many people were within sight and earshot of her at a time.

Until now, she still wasn’t completely sure why she’d decided to name her suit’s simple AI system after her dead father. It was supposed to be a pun, she supposed. AI looked like an A and a lowercase L, the first two letters of his name. He’d also developed it himself –at least, in its prototypal stages. She’d had to add all the special features, work out the kinks, and fine-tune it herself, mostly with Pidge and her uncle/family friend/right hand Coran’s help.

It was sentiment, she supposed. Some way of keeping him alive. The robotic voice the system used had nothing of his warmth or charm. It wasn’t like interacting with the system reminded her of him in particular. But it had saved her life in many a tight pinch. It was like he was still looking out for her, catching her falls, beyond the grave. Spectral help.

_Your spirit will rest easy, Father. I will avenge you._

She pressed a button at the bottom of her right handlebar. At her command, the motorcycle slowly but surely turned from sleek black to smooth white, broken only by a streak of pink. Responding to the signal sent off by the motorcycle, she felt a faint warmth all over her body as her suit also changed from a dull black to the matching colors. She’d engineered it to be wirelessly connected to the motorcycle at all times, and it came in handy.

She ascended the ramp to the highway, keeping her head low. As she rushed past cars and trucks, the corner of her vision turned red as a small flashing light illuminated on her interface.

_Message from: Spark._

It was Keith. “Alfor, read message.”

The robotic voice complied. “Found the subject. It’s interesting. You have to see for yourself.” A pause. “Picture attached.”

She moved into an empty lane. “Show picture.”

One corner of her interface was instantly occupied by a grainy, low-resolution snapshot of what looked like a panther cub. It was pure black, golden eyes seeming to glow. Despite it looking to be around the length of a man’s forearm, she could see that it was taking the combined efforts of two people to hold down.

“Huh,” she said out loud. “Alfor, compose message, to Spark. Dictation- where are you?”

 _Message sent,_ read the letters at the top of her interface. As she waited for a reply, her thoughts turned to the picture Keith had sent. Maybe it was an escaped zoo animal or something, but judging from what she’d seen, it was anything but ordinary.

It had Daibaz written all over it. Her stomach clenched with disgust.

 _More victims of their sick games,_ she thought.

Exactly eight years ago, Alfor and Melinor Leone, CEOs and founders of the prestigious technological corporation Altea Industries, had perished in a sudden and horrific car crash. Exactly eight years ago, Allura’s life had shattered, and her heart with it. They’d died instantly, she’d been told. There had been no saving them. And so, at the age of ten, Allura had been orphaned, the sole heiress of their massive fortune, with Coran as her only companion.

With its head cut off, the company had run amok. Shares were lost. Profits plummeted. There had been an ugly little power struggle among the highest positions, and Altea very nearly went bankrupt. As a result of the chaos, Altea Industries’ main rival, Daibaz Corp, emerged victorious, a shining beacon of technological innovation and business excellence.

Allura had, at first, dismissed her suspicions that Daibaz could’ve been behind her parents’ deaths. It seemed too wild, too unlikely. There was physical evidence that her parents’ car crash had been just that- a car crash. And besides, Zarkon and Honerva Daibaz were old friends of the Leones- in the past, at least.

Still, the doubt burned at her. It ate at her insides. She began obsessing, watching online conspiracy videos and watching the Daibaz family’s every move. Coran had finally staged an intervention.

“They’re gone, Allura,” he’d said, lines around his eyes deep in sadness, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You have to let them go.”

She’d refused. In secret, she’d dug deep and unearthed all of her parents’ old prototypes- wild, whimsical innovations of their youth. She found technology so advanced she had been unable to believe her eyes. Vehicles. Prosthetic limbs. Safety gear. Weapons.

It all had one thing in common- reliance on q-particle energy, a new, volatile type of energy discovered only twenty years before, a mystery to most of the world’s leading scientists. It was difficult to handle and difficult to develop into usable tech, and yet somehow- _somehow-_ her parents had found a way to use it in creating some of the most advanced technology Allura had ever seen.

And they’d kept it a secret. Until now, Allura could not understand why. The inventions were not meant for harm –they all had healing, protective purposes, all a way to advance human technology beyond its preconceived limits. Yet it had all been on a secret drive named _Project Voltron_ she’d found after much struggle in a dusty secret compartment beneath her house’s basement.

What was deeply interesting, however, was the almost _damning_ similarities between the schematics in Project Voltron and the new tech Daibaz Corp spat out every year in all the expositions. Even though Project Voltron’s tech was ultimately sleeker, smarter, cleaner, more refined, Daibaz’s tech crept closer and closer to it with every passing year.

Was it luck, after all, that when Allura looked closer, she saw that the last Voltron design’s date of completion coincided neatly with the last correspondence Alfor and Zarkon had ever shared- the mysterious argument that had severed their friendship forever?

That was the final nail in the coffin. Allura became convinced that her parents had not been victims of a stroke of bad luck on a stormy night. They had been murdered.

The evidence was too vague. It was based on a million logical fallacies. And yet Allura’s heart told her that she was right. Zarkon and Honerva Daibaz were hiding something dark and evil in the recesses of Daibaz Corp, and Allura would not rest until she revealed it.

It was only fitting that she’d use Project Voltron to do it.

Yet there had still been –Allura winced to think of her friends as such- _complications._

_Message from: Spark._

“Alfor, read message,” she said, shaking herself out of her thoughts.

“Shiro’s old place,” read Alfor. Allura gritted her teeth. Keith kept forgetting that they shouldn’t use names in the comms- they could be intercepted, despite Pidge’s best efforts, and that was a problem they couldn’t afford to have.

She went down the steep incline that would lead her downtown. The streets became closer, narrower, the cars less few and far between, despite it being late. As always, Allura prayed nobody would recognize her trademark pink-and-white suit. For all intents and purposes, she was technically a fugitive. A helpful fugitive, but a fugitive still.

Lance, whose older sister Veronica was a police officer, often kept her updated on how the investigation surrounding the Paladins was going. He passed it off as a joke on the irony that his own sister was heading the investigation about him, but Allura knew it was taking a lot from him to keep his double life from his family.

 _Still,_ Allura thought. _It wasn’t like he could help it._

Neither he nor Hunk could have. They’d been dragged into this- a bit too much concern for their friend Pidge, who’d broken into the massive complex that formed Daibaz HQ, looking for the truth behind her brother’s mysterious suicide. By the time Allura, Shiro, and Keith had gotten there to sort out the commotion, they were dying, bleeding out on the cold linoleum floor of an off-limits laboratory. Injecting them with the q-serums – a violation of their autonomy, Allura thought with guilt- had been the only way to save their lives.

Now, whether they liked it or not, they were involved. They’d been able to hack into the security camera footage and delete all evidence of their faces, but nothing could be done about the people in Daibaz HQ who’d seen them.

They’d taken care of Haxus at some point, though.

Overhead, the subway entrance came into view. Allura brought the motorcycle to an idle before it. “Alfor, keep the motorcycle within the perimeter. Alert me to any distinct presence of QPE.”

Her interface turned green for a few moments to show her it had registered the command. She dismounted from the cycle and, head down, went down the stairs of the subway entrance.

At this time of night, the subway station was mostly empty. A few homeless people stretched out on benches. An art student smoked a cigarette on the platform. A street performer was packing up his guitar. Allura left the main entrance and opened a door labeled STAFF ONLY. Unnoticed, she slipped inside. The door clanged shut behind her, muffling the grinding and whistling of a train arriving. The corridor she had entered was dimly lit, dusty, and empty; still, she could hear faint _thumps_ and indistinct voices from the end of the corridor.

She walked down the corridor, counting doors.

 _G07, G08, G09…_ Allura stopped at the door labeled G010. The voices were louder now, and she could discern them; someone yelped inside, yelling, “It _bit_ me!”

Lance, definitely. Keith’s voice came a moment later. “What do you expect it to do? It’s terrified and you keep poking it.”

“Contact comfort, _genius!”_

She knocked. The voices instantly became quiet. “It’s me,” she said, voice low.

A pause. Then the door swung open, revealing Shiro, looking exhausted.

“You’re here,” he said, offering a half-smile. “We’ve been waiting.”

Allura stepped inside, removing her helmet. “Tell me what’s going on.”

As always, she always felt a little sad whenever she came here. After all, it was a supply closet –a supply closet Shiro had essentially lived in before Allura had discovered him and offered a place to stay at her own house. Like everything else in the subway station, it was sparsely lit, dust motes hanging heavily in the air. It smelled like instant ramen and gasoline.

In one corner, Pidge perched on a desk chair with its stuffing poking out of the seat, cleaning her circular glasses. On the ground, Lance and Hunk knelt next to what looked to be an enclosure made out of giant pieces of cardboard, Lance cradling his bleeding hand while Hunk peered inside. Keith, meanwhile, leaned against the wall moodily, watching Allura with his luminous purplish eyes. He acknowledged her presence with a single nod.

“There was a commotion up by the park,” Shiro explained. “People were talking about this incredibly fast, unknown creature tearing up the playground area. There are seven injuries- a tree fell on two people, four people- Animal Control personnel- were bitten, and one person had second-degree burns from an explosion.”

Allura peered into the cardboard enclosure. Inside, sat a small black panther cub, snapping up a hot dog. Upon closer scrutiny, however, Allura noticed that it looked more like a lion, dyed black. It looked harmless, however, kneading the hard ground beneath it for comfort, looking miserable. “What’s that got to do with this…cub?”

“Apparently the whole commotion was caused by it,” Shiro explained, forehead creasing. “We saw it. It’s extremely fast, and it does this thing where it starts vibrating, and then there’s a little explosion and it runs away. What’s bad about that is that it’s very scared, and very aggressive. And, um. Hunk tried catching it at first, trapping it, but then we found out it can go non-corporeal.”

Allura’s eyes widened. “Like-”

“Yes, like me,” Shiro finished for her, furrowing his eyebrows. “It doesn’t make any sense. I managed to catch it and we brought it here.”

Allura leaned closer to the cub, then backed away as it growled and began to vibrate. “How did you keep it calm?”

Everyone began to get visibly distressed as the cub kept vibrating. “Quick, quick, get one of those things-”

Keith fumbled around in a paper bag sitting near the door before he unearthed a cold hot dog. As lightly as possible, he threw it into the cardboard square. The cub stopped vibrating immediately and focused on the hot dog, gnawing it.

“It likes hot dogs,” Lance said, shrugging. “When we caught up to it we found it heading near a stand.”

Keith sighed. “I think we should put it out of its misery.”

There were immediate protests from Hunk and Pidge. Lance sprung up in indignation. “It’s a baby!”

“I’m just saying that it’s too dangerous to control. It obviously doesn’t know its own strength and it could get people hurt if it gets away from us. We can investigate it after it’s dead,” Keith said simply. At everyone’s horrified stares, he raised his shoulders defensively. “It’s in pain and it’s aggressive and we don’t know anything about it. It’s better if it just dies and nobody else gets hurt!”

“It was just scared!” Hunk said. “You have a dog, Keith, how would you feel if-”

“Kosmo doesn’t _explode!”_

“Yeah, well-”

Allura frowned. Deep down, she knew Keith had a point. Even though he was sometimes a bit too pragmatic for her liking, he always saw the big picture, and right now, if they kept the cub, she knew it wouldn’t look very bright. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to agree. She glanced at Shiro and knew he was thinking the same thing. He was troubled, staring at the cub like he had some kind of suspicion about where it came from.

The noise had begun to aggravate the cub. The tip of its tail began to twitch. Allura crooked a finger, and a secret compartment inside it released a small needle into her palm. She positioned herself so the cub’s back was to her, and slowly advanced.

Lance saw her and his eyes went wide. “What are you- _whoa, Allura, what are you-”_

She shushed him. “Relax. It’s a tranquilizer. Distract it. Hurry!”

Lance fished a hot dog out of the bag and dangled it in front of the cub, who fixated on it, raising a paw to bat at it. Allura, silently, gestured for Shiro to hold the cub down.

“On my mark,” she said, very quietly. He nodded seriously, concentrating. “One, two…” The cub reared up on its hind legs, trying to get to the hot dog. “Three!”

In a flash, Shiro had both hands on the cub, holding it down. The fight it put up seemed disproportionate to its small size. Moving quickly, Allura crouched down and thrust the needle into the side of its neck. It struggled for a moment, before going limp.

“Good idea,” Pidge said, climbing down from the desk chair. She poked the cub experimentally. “How long will he be out?”

“An hour or so. Maybe more. We need to get it secured in my mother’s lab before it wakes up,” she said. “I don’t want to tranquilize it again. It’s a bit powerful for something this young.”

She knelt down next to it, tentatively putting a hand on its flank. Even unconscious, the cub buzzed with latent, heated energy, like an overheated phone. Its breathing was erratic. Allura began parting its soft, dark fur, looking for something to affirm her suspicions.

“We need to name it- _him._ We need to name him,” Lance said, fiddling with his mask.

Allura leaned closer as she found what she was looking for- dark, branded letters on the cub’s skin, beneath the fur. “How about X-003?”

“I was thinking Tchalla actually- wait, _what?”_

Allura beckoned them closer. “It’s branded with a serial number.”

Something dark entered Shiro’s eyes, and his hand, subconsciously, went to his flesh wrist, where an _X-001.5_ tattoo resided. “An experiment. One of Dr. Daibaz’s.”

The final piece of evidence that had confirmed that Daibaz needed to be stopped- Shiro himself. When Allura had found him, he’d been basically homeless, a fugitive, living off of stolen food, and emitting overwhelming QPE signatures. He’d been prowling around downtown, occasionally making the news as a masked vigilante who stopped muggings and robberies almost every night. Labeled as the Lioness’ rival vigilante, he’d been nicknamed the Ghost by the press.

Allura had found and interrogated him, unable to comprehend that the QPE she’d detected was coming off of _him_ rather than any kind of device he possessed. She’d been convinced he was an agent of Daibaz Corp-where else could he have gotten all of that QPE?- even though she found it difficult to explain why he’d be moonlighting as a crime-fighter. She’d been amazed to find out that he was actually the opposite- a runaway human experiment from the very company she’d believed employed him, trying to find out what had happened to his friend and coworker Matthew Holt, who’d supposedly committed suicide the previous year after a brief stint as a Daibaz Corp intern –the very brother Pidge had almost died investigating.

Daibaz Corp had taken his arm and replaced it with a prosthetic. They’d developed it as a q-serum that granted him his superhuman speed and strength and his ability to pass through solids like he was made of air. But that was all he remembered. His memory was spotty, his escape a blur. All he knew was that someone had helped him do it. He was convinced it was Matt –that he’d somehow found him at the facility upstate, freed him, and had been abducted during the run. He was determined to free him. For some reason, he starkly denied even the implication that Matt really could just be dead.

His story was wild. Still, Allura couldn’t afford paranoia, so she believed him. Now, as friends, she felt her blood burn with rage at how the Dr. Daibaz he mentioned –probably Honerva Daibaz herself- had violated him and destroyed his life.

 _You will pay for what you’ve done,_ she thought with icy anger.

Now this cub was another one of their victims. She felt her heart soften for it, even though at the back of her mind, she knew they really were going to have to put it down at some point. Near one of its hind paws, there was a raw, swollen scar- like someone had dug a knife in it and scooped a bit of flesh out.

“Tracker,” Shiro said, sitting down on his heels. “Someone stole this from them.”

“Wasn’t there a police chase this morning?” Lance piped up. “Stolen goods. The cops lost it, though, the car fell off the cliff and into the ocean.”

“Where was it coming from?” Allura asked.

“Let me check,” he said. A minute later, he spoke again, voice grim. “Upstate.”

That confirmed it. “We need to dig deeper. Let’s get to my place, now.”

“Right.”

Hunk wrapped the cub in a ragged blanket, handing it to Shiro, who still looked a bit pale. As Allura went to open the door, she heard Keith approach him, softly asking if he was alright.

“It’s fine,” Shiro said in that dismissive way of his that implied the opposite.

“Shiro,” Keith said disapprovingly.

“Really, it is,” he said. “It’s just…” Allura looked back to find him staring at the cub in his arms. “It’s labelled X-003. That means there’s an X-002 out there, somewhere. Probably upstate.”

Pidge hummed thoughtfully. “We already know that there’s an X-001. The ‘failed experiment’ you heard them talking about before you got out. Maybe that’s it?”

“No, no…” Shiro shook his head. “Why rename them? X-001 failed. That’s for sure. Whoever it was…they’re probably dead, the way they talked about them. No, X-002 is something else entirely. Maybe they’re a person.” He paused. “We have to get them out.”

“That would mean going to the facility,” Keith said, a note of protest in his voice. “Breaking in. You know that, right?”

“We still have to get them out,” Shiro said. “Whoever’s in there needs our help. Maybe it could even be-” He cut himself off, glancing at Pidge, who was watching him expectantly. He’d been about to say _Matt._ “I’m not saying we should barge in right away. I’m just saying that it’s the right thing to do, and that one way or another we need to do it.”

Thankfully, Pidge hadn’t caught on, which was surprising, considering her intelligence. The only one in the world whose obsession with finding Matt exceeded Shiro’s was her. At one point in her life, it had gotten deeply unhealthy, all of her waking hours devoted to tracking him down. They’d managed to get her to calm down a little and approach it rationally, but there was no need to get her riled up and reckless again. They didn’t need another q-serum incident.

“You don’t have to go back there, Shiro,” Allura warned. He was a fairly private person, but she knew that his ordeal had left him damaged in more ways than one. “We can handle this another way.”

“What other way is there?” Shiro said heatedly. “I can’t rest at night knowing there’s someone in there strapped to a table, having who-knows-what done-” He paused, and took a deep breath. “I can do it. _We_ can do it. Aren’t we here for stopping Daibaz from hurting more people?”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence as they took it in. True, they _were_ there to stop Daibaz. But there were other motivations as well. Keith was there because he wanted Shiro safe. Pidge and Shiro were after Matt. Lance and Hunk just wanted to survive and find some way to get the serum out of their systems. And as for Allura…justice needed to be served. She’d already had enough detours.

“How about we talk about it when we’re in the lab?” Allura suggested. “Here I feel...exposed.”

In twos, scattered they left the corridor and met outside the station in the shadow of a building. Allura called Alfor; the motorcycle came speeding to a stop before them, and she and Shiro climbed on.

“My place. An hour. Stay close.”

She didn’t like all the QPE the cub was emitting. It kept showing up in little alerts on her interface. It was like a homing beacon. For who, though…

She revved the motorcycle and they were off. Their silence was tangible; Allura could feel the small ball of heat that was the cub at her back as Shiro held it against his chest with one arm, using the other to hold on to the motorcycle.

“You don’t have to bottle anything up,” she said, raising her voice over the rushing air. “If you feel scared about breaking X-002 out, you can say so. It’s not your-” she stopped herself from saying _responsibility._

It kind of was their responsibility. They had these abilities, this knowledge, these resources to fight Daibaz; they should be using them for it. Wasn’t that how Allura justified her vigilantism to herself every day?

“There are too many unanswered questions,” Shiro said. Unlike her, he wore no helmet- just a tight ski mask. “I have to know _why_ they’re doing this, Allura. Why they did this to me.”

They were trying to replicate Project Voltron. That, Allura knew for sure. After all, the q-serum Shiro had been injected with was almost unsettling in its similarity to those belonging to Keith, Pidge, Hunk, and Lance. Still, to what end?

“I understand,” she said.

“Besides. We need to address the elephant in the room.”

“What?”

“The Prince.”

Both of them went silent. Another mystery. She was still reeling from last night’s discovery. At first, she’d thought the Prince and his gang of mooks were just a bunch of criminal weapons traffickers. Now, though- the Prince had _powers._ He could teleport, just as she’d hypothesized- and dismissed. Why? _How?_ Could he be working with Daibaz? He seemed to exist to create complications for Allura. Yet he also created complications for Daibaz, stealing their equipment and intercepting their shipments. Could a third party have accessed the QPE tech?

She turned the motorcycle into a dark, empty side road, a shortcut to the highway. The only source of light was the motorcycle’s headlights.

“You think he’d be the one behind the cub escaping?” she thought.

“Possibly, but that isn’t my point. He can teleport. So can this cub- we forgot to mention that when it explodes, it reappears somewhere else, always just a few feet away. My guess is that the explosions are actually just a side effect of the teleportation.”

“What are you saying?”

“I guess I think that there could be some kind of connection-”

Her interface glowed red. Alfor’s robotic voice crackled to life.

“Incoming signatures of QPE. Explosive detected-” She saw the bump in the road just in time and violently wrenched the motorcycle to the side just as it exploded, throwing her and Shiro off of the cycle. She slammed against the ground, her interface flashing red alerts- if she hadn’t had her helmet on, she’d be unconscious. “Danger: concussion warning. Danger: increased signatures of QPE-”

“Alfor, turn off QPE alerts,” she said through gritted teeth, raising herself on one elbow, head aching. “Launch cycle to end of the road.” She took a deep breath. “Ghost! Ghost, are you-”

Someone had been following them. Her mind reeled. Her vision was blurry from the fall; she coughed, rolled over, tried to see past the fiery wreckage that was where the bomb had been. She heard the engine of her motorcycle as she felt it speed away.

 _Who is this?_ she thought frantically. Her interface was flashing red, disorienting her. She pushed herself to her feet.

 _Incoming call from: Tesla._ “Alfor, accept call,” she said, looking around for where Shiro had gone.

“ _Lioness! It’s them!”_ came Pidge’s frantic voice _, “they’ve been tracking us, I don’t know where Screamer is, one of them is attacking Spark-”_ there was a rough grunt, a thud, and then the line went dead.

“Tesla! _Tesla!”_ Allura called. _This is bad,_ she thought, heart racing. “Alfor, call Tesla.”

“Tesla unavailable.”

“Try again.”

“Tesla unavailable.”

 _Shit!_ She looked around. In the distance, she could see Shiro’s broad-shouldered silhouette, engaged in combat with someone whose features she just couldn’t make out. She surged forward, ready to run to his aid, when she suddenly felt the air shift, pressure behind her, goosebumps rising with static electricity, and the cold kiss of a blade at her neck.

“I’m quite sorry for the fright, Lioness,” came a smooth, rich, _familiar_ voice. Her gut clenched. “We’ve had a good run. But I’m afraid I can’t let you live, not after what you’ve seen.”

It was almost like they’d summoned him by speaking his name. The Prince and his court had arrived. And now, Allura knew, there would be no holding back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm taking it slow with lotura these few chapters -please have patience. Speaking of patience, sorry for such a late update, but life's...difficult, haha. Also, whoo, tension. Have fun!

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title is a reference to the song Costume Party by Two Door Cinema Club, which is basically the theme song of this fic. You'll know why. 
> 
> Please leave kudos and reviews! They're the fuel that pushes us fic-writers into creation. Also, credit for this AU goes to radioactivesupersonic on Tumblr!!!


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